


Mr. Brightside

by DrPearlGatsby



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Background Reylo, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gingerflower, Gingerrose - Freeform, New Year's Kiss, Rose Tico Deserved Better, background stormpilot, but the angst is short-lived, grad school parties are chill but with lots of weird dancing, grad students, in canon this is a crackship for me but like, my hand slipped and I wrote over 2k???, now that I've started reading the fics I can't stop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22582762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrPearlGatsby/pseuds/DrPearlGatsby
Summary: Armitage Hux does not develop fruitless crushes on gorgeous, brilliant women so far out of his league that he only learns their names after scouring every graduate student profile on the godforsaken university website. His heart does not flutter weirdly, nor does he blush at the mere sight of aforementioned gorgeous women. Woman. Grad student. Bubbly, curvy, bright-eyed, raven-haired beauty.Or. Well. Maybe he does.[[Rose--a total stranger--kisses Hux at midnight on New Year's Eve, and he hasn't stopped thinking about her since. Then he spots her at another grad student party... with another man.]]
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 27
Kudos: 106





	Mr. Brightside

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of weeks ago I saw pictures on twitter of Domhnall giving Kelly his coat at some awards thing and I turned rabid Gingerflower faster than you can say--well, "Gingerflower." I wasn't feeling it AT ALL in the movies (still don't!), but in happy fandom-land I am LIVING. FOR. THIS. SHIP. RIGHT. NOW.
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful [@reylogarbagechute](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylogarbagechute/profile) for making the moodboard for this fic!

  


**.**

  


It was only a kiss

_(It was only a kiss)_

**.**

Fresh beer in hand, Armitage Hux walks out of the kitchen at the exact moment she arrives—and, in spite of the snowy chill leaking in the front door, immediately feels his face go hot. It’s dark—all the lightbulbs replaced with black lights and one somewhat pathetic disco ball, and there’s a whole crowd of grad students dancing in delightfully weird ways between them. Still. As equally as he wishes she would spot him, he wishes he could sink into the floor and disappear.

  


He’s a man of poise, Armitage Hux. He disapproves of most things, does not often smile, drinks because it is what men do and not out of any desire to lower his inhibitions. His hair is always in place, his face always clean-shaven; and even after six years at American schools, he’s made every effort not to lose his accent because he thinks it sounds much more refined than his colleagues’ sloppy speech. Armitage Hux does not develop fruitless crushes on gorgeous, brilliant women so far out of his league that he only learns their names after scouring every graduate student profile on the godforsaken university website. His heart does not _flutter_ weirdly, nor does he _blush_ at the mere sight of aforementioned gorgeous women. Woman. Grad student. Bubbly, curvy, bright-eyed, raven-haired beauty.

  


Or. Well. Maybe he does.

  


Rose Tico is shedding her coat to reveal a one-shoulder top made of some sort of shiny material—the light catches on the ruffle that accentuates her chest—and a sleek pair of jeans, and Armitage Hux is thinking there isn’t a look she can’t pull off. In her profile on the School of Engineering’s website, she’s in a white button-down and a slate gray blazer, her hair in a low chignon peeking out on one side of her neck. In Armitage Hux’s dreams, her hair is long and sleek and pulled back from her face and she’s wearing that flouncy pink dress he’d swear—were he not deep in denial—he’ll never forget.

  


**.**

  


_Armitage gets an email invite as usual—he’s been getting them since he started his Ph.D.—but out of an uncharacteristic desire for some human interaction, this time he accepts. He doesn’t expect a New Year’s Eve party to be much of a destination—even most international students seem to take the whole winter break—but upon arriving, he learns that his desire for a subdued room in which to sip whiskey won’t exactly be fulfilled. The lab students, as it happens, return to campus in droves as soon as Christmas is over, required to keep up with their experiments in the weeks before classes start._

_He arrives an hour late, which is perhaps a bad decision. By 10:30 the small kitchen is too crowded, so the only other choice of where to hang out in the house is the living/dining area, which is being used as a dance floor. The one acquaintance Armitage almost counts as a friend—Ben Solo, who either also doesn’t have or doesn’t care to spend holidays with family—is there, but it’s clear he’s vying for a midnight kiss from a snippy brunette with a weird hairstyle._ Poets _, Armitage thinks dismissively as the clock creeps toward midnight, observing Ben and the whole scene with not a little distaste._

_But there’s a tiny part of him that wants to stay, and for that part of himself he stays. This time when the casual chit-chat of his classmates turns to, “What did you do over the break?” he’ll have something to say, something besides the litany of tasks he’s completed. Arguably, everyone is in grad school to conduct research, but after two winters he’s deciphered the looks his colleagues give him as pity._

_He’s surprised when the lights flicker to announce the impending countdown, and the brunette Ben has been following around with puppy-dog eyes climbs up onto a chair and starts leading the room in a countdown. A crowd trickles out of the kitchen, people pressing closer in all around him. Armitage scoots along the wall toward an open corner, trying to make room and avoid touching other people if at all possible; but as the countdown reaches the teens he feels a tug on his arm._

_He looks down in confusion at a short girl with sleek black hair wearing a ruffled pink dress that makes her look like a cupcake. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are shining and Armitage frowns at her, wondering if perhaps she’s drunk. “I don’t know you,” he says loudly over the sounds of the countdown._

_“What?” she shouts back as the room calls out, “THIRTEEN! TWELVE!”_

_“I said, I don’t know you!”_

_“NINE! EIGHT!”_

_“Are you here with anyone?” she yells next._

_“SIX! FIVE!”_

_“No,” he yells back, shaking his head. She’s clearly having trouble hearing him. “I said—”_

_The girl plants one hand on his shoulder and snakes the other up his neck as she rises up on her tiptoes toward him, and as the clock strikes midnight and the partygoers cheer, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Armitage surprises himself by letting her._

_His first thought—his first_ coherent _thought, after she follows the firm press of her lips with a swipe of her tongue and he opens his mouth to her for a sloppy, languid kiss—is that there’s no way she’s seen him clearly in this dark room. His second thought—as her fingers travel up into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and (he just knows, he can feel it) mussing his pomade-stiff hair—is a sudden and heart-clenching rush of emotion so strong that he whimpers softly against her mouth, praying she doesn’t notice: Oh dear God, I_ need _this._

_But probably she’s drunk and confused or else looking only for a way to celebrate the turn of the year, so when she bites gently at his bottom lip and pulls away to give him a saucy grin, he straightens up out of her reach, backing fully against the wall and clearing his throat._

_Her smile doesn’t falter, but the light in her eyes dims, maybe just a little. She taps one foot against his. “Thanks. Happy New Year.” And then she’s moving back through the crowd, never to be seen again._

**.**

Rose. Her name is Rose Tico. Rose, like the ruffles of that perfectly absurd party dress. The song changes and Armitage watches as she dances a little ways through the crowd until she meets the brunette Ben loves and an African-American man. They’re already into the song, matching each other move-for-move, and Armitage’s chest does another unpleasant thing it certainly should _not_ do as the man holds Rose’s hand high over her head, spinning her around so he can align his body with hers and gyrate against her.

  


Armitage turns on his heel and goes back into the kitchen, taking long pulls from his beer until he’s finished it. He drops the bottle into the recycling and returns to the living room two songs later to see Rose still dancing with the same guy—so it’s back to the kitchen again.

  


There’s some whiskey on top of the fridge—leftover still from the previous party, which was barely a month ago—and Armitage takes his time preparing another drink. He opens cabinets until he finds a suitable glass, as none are left. He picks through the bag of ice melting in the sink for a large enough chunk that will chill the drink without diluting it too heavily. He pours the dark liquid into the glass. She hasn’t gotten a drink yet, he reasons. Any moment she’ll—

  


“Hey, guy, can I get some of that?”

  


Armitage turns toward the source, coming face-to-face with none other than the African-American man. He’s already holding a glass of sparkling wine— _for Rose_. Armitage’s expression darkens.

  


After a few moments, the other man falters. “Uh, never mind,” he says, setting the glass on the counter and bending down to dig through the ice chest. Soon he retrieves an IPA and, with a cursory glance and half-shrug at the label, carries it back out of the kitchen.

  


Armitage looks down into his whiskey for a moment, then downs it in two gulps. Setting the glass down on the counter with _just a little_ more force than necessary, he stalks out of the kitchen and makes for the front door.

  


Of course, he only makes it about five steps before he almost runs smack into Rose and her friends. It’s a quieter song that’s playing, so Armitage hears when Rose exclaims, “Eww, Finn, an IPA? Really?”

  


“I don’t know! He looked like he didn’t want to share!”

  


“Trade me,” she reaches for the wine.

  


“No!” Finn holds the glass over his head out of her reach.

  


“Some friend _you_ are.” She sticks out her tongue like a child.

  


“ _Baby_!” a curly-haired man exclaims, cutting suddenly into the group and planting a kiss on Finn’s lips.

  


“Hello to you too,” Rose rolls her eyes. “I’m getting a different drink.”

  


And then she is turning and looking— _right—at—him_.

  


Armitage freezes.

  


Rose’s mouth moves into a little “o” of surprise, her eyes widening in recognition, and Armitage feels his blush returning, creeping up to the tips of his ears. She advances on him, and Armitage Hux does a very un-Armitage-Hux-like thing: he retreats.

  


He is in the kitchen before she is, trying to catch his breath and calm his pounding heart when she rounds the corner after him.

  


“Hey, I—” she’s calling after him, but when she spots him she lowers the volume. It’s a little quieter here in the kitchen. “Oh! Um. Hi.” She drops the eye contact shyly for a moment, searching for the cooler to replace the beer she’s just rejected. “I—um,” she puts the beer back into the cooler. “Have you seen the…?”

  


“Whiskey?” Armitage guesses, remembering Finn’s words. Finn, who seems to be the curly-haired man’s _baby_ , which makes Rose—maybe _not_?

  


“Yes!”

  


Armitage reaches for the bottle on top of the fridge.

  


“Thanks—” she goes to take it, but he turns just out of reach.

  


“Here, let me.”

  


“Oh! Thank you.”

  


Rose is quiet as she watches him retrieve another glass. He hesitates at the ice in the sink. “On the rocks?”

  


“Yes, thank you.”

  


Armitage swallows nervously as he chips at a chunk of ice with a red solo cup, trying to hack off a suitable piece. If _Finn_ is with the _other_ man and Rose is—

  


“It’s okay if it gets watery. It’ll be my only drink of the night—I never have much.” Rose arranges herself so she’s leaning against the counter beside the sink, crossing her arms over her chest. Armitage is _extremely_ aware of her as he uncaps the bottle and pours her a neat glass.

  


“Thank you,” she says when he hands it over, leaving his fingers on the glass a _little_ longer than necessary so that her hand overlaps with his when she takes it. She makes eye contact with him as her palm brushes his fingertips, and there’s something in her expression that makes _something_ happen in his chest again.

  


_Oh, what the hell_ , Armitage Hux tells himself as he turns to put the whiskey back on the fridge. One more try. One more try and that’s _it_ —he swears to himself—after this night, he’ll never seek after this woman again. He’ll never attend another party, never—

  


“…of me, and I’m—well, I just hope you don’t hate me for it.”

  


She’s been talking. Somehow she’s been _talking_ and he isn’t listening. _Shit_. He flinches. Armitage Hux does not _space out_ mid-conversation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?”

  


“I was just saying I’m sorry for the… last time you met me. If you didn’t appreciate that. I don’t normally—actually, I _never_ do stuff like that.” She’s looking down into her whiskey as she talks, and when she meets his eyes again her expression is wistful.

  


Armitage’s throat feels so tight he can barely choke out a response, but in a moment he finds his words. “No apology necessary. I… never do that, either.” She giggles a little and he realizes just how much he’s revealed of himself. He shakes his head. “I mean—I don’t mind.”

  


“ _Really_.” Her smile has turned playful, and her eyes have that spark he’d seen on New Year’s Eve. She takes a small step into his personal space, challenging him.

  


His voice is softer and less confident than he means it to be when he tells her, “It’s an experience I wouldn’t mind repeating.”

  


“What if we got coffee first?”

  


Armitage Hux nods dumbly before he comes back into himself and realizes he is nodding dumbly. His face can’t possibly be any redder—he can feel it. “I’d do that.”

  


“On campus? How about First Order—that’s near your department, right?” She blanches. “I mean! Oh, God, that sounds creepy, doesn’t it?” Rose looks away for a second, biting her lip before glancing back. “I… kind of looked you up? After we… met?”

  


As it happens, Armitage Hux does not full-on _grin_. This is one bit of control he keeps no matter— _anything_. Though if things keep going this way, he must admit to himself, there’s a chance that even _that_ will change. He allows a small quirk at the corner of his mouth—no further—and leans in closer. “Would you believe I looked you up, too?”

  


Rose Tico certainly does full-on grin. She flashes the expression now before sipping her whiskey, and then Armitage finds he can’t look away from her lips.

  


“Coffee? You promise, _Armitage_?”

He nods, dragging his eyes back up to hers. “Rose.”

  


She briefly looks away—to set the whiskey on the counter behind him—and takes his face in both of her hands. “Come here, you.”

  


When Rose kisses him again, his first thought—after _oh God, this is so much better than I remember_ and _more_ and _tastes like whiskey and sugar_ and _soft, oh_ (his hands pulling her body closer to his, finding purchase at her hips and waist)—is that he could do this every day for the rest of his life. And his second thought—well, whatever it was, it doesn’t matter much anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope I did okay? I cut down on some of Hux's usual backstory but hope he doesn't seem too out of character. In any case, I had fun and added another fic to the Hux/Rose tag. I had a really tough January and fic helped me get through it, so I hope this brightens someone's day. :)


End file.
